Christmas Magic
by Esin of Sardis
Summary: An AU set in Chicago: Robert Gold wasn't planning to celebrate Christmas this year. There was too much pain associated with it. But his wife has another idea—some happiness might just be good for both of them. Rumbelle Secret Santa fic for arcticmuse :)
1. A Spell for Creating

**Christmas Magic: a story in five unequally portioned parts**

Written for the fabulous arcticmuse from the prompt: "greensward, inveigh, alfresco, sprite & svelte" although the story kinda wandered off in another direction. This is part of the Rumbelle Secret Santa exchange 2013.

Hope you enjoy!

~esin

* * *

_This is the way you left me,_

_I'm not pretending._

_No hope, no love, no glory,_

_No happy ending_

~MIKA

* * *

Belle Gold sunk back against the kitchen counter, positively glaring at the kitchen. The room itself was barely big enough to fit typical appliances—the whole flat gave the impression that someone had put it in a compressor at some point. The harsh white of the walls, floors, and counter tops was improved by a string of multicolored Christmas lights she hadn't been able to fit on the tree. The beginnings of dinner were sprawled out over the limited counter space, yes, but it shouldn't have been this hard to find things.

Two hours. That's all she had until her husband returned home. Two hours to finish the magic she'd been working on all day. And there was simply no chance of dinner being finished on time if she had to run to the store for white wine.

She had been sure they had some. She remembered buying it. But there wasn't a single place she could think of where it might be. She'd torn apart the kitchen looking for it. Twice. Not for the first time, she wished she had a summoning spell of some sort. Like in _Harry Potter_. (She was well-read enough to know not to wish for just any sort of summoning spell—wishes carried prices and not all magic was painless.)

Sighing, she picked up her phone and dialed her husband's office number. She hated ruining the surprise like this, but there was no other choice. The soup wouldn't work without white wine and there wasn't time to try to make something else.

The phone rang several times before he picked up. "Robert Gold speaking."

Belle giggled despite herself. She loved calling his office. He always sounded so serious when he answered. She could imagine him downtown in his little brick building, sitting in his office, surrounded by legal documents and filing cabinets. He would lean back in his chair as he talked to her, perhaps fixing his jacket with his free hand.

"Belle? Are you okay?" he asked, obviously trying not to sound worried. Of course he could recognize her giggle. After five years of marriage, he'd certainly heard it plenty.

"I'm fine," she said, before lowering her voice to a staged whisper. Maybe, with a little magic and imagination, the surprise wouldn't be lost. "Can you keep a secret?"

"What sort of secret?" he whispered back. Belle could hear faint laughter in the background on his end of the phone. At least someone besides her found this amusing.

"A secret one," she said. Jumping back up onto the counter, she smiled. Her annoyance with the kitchen began to slip away. It was impossible to stay annoyed when he was on the other side of the phone, his smooth voice speaking in her ear.

"What is it?"

"You have to promise." Her voice took on a bit of a sing-song quality as she swung her legs back and forth.

"Who am I keeping this secret from?"

"Yourself?" she said, trying to sound apologetic and desperately hoping he'd play along.

"Myself?" Now the laughter in the background of the call was joined by his own chuckles.

"Yes. Can you? Please?"

"Alright. I promise." He was grinning. She could hear it in his voice.

"Great, cause I need your help, but you can't let yourself know, okay?"

"Okay."

"First question: do we have any white wine?"

"I think so. Probably. Why?" he asked. Excellent. He was confused. If he hadn't figured it out already, maybe he wouldn't.

"Shhhh it's a surprise. Where would it be?"

"In the back closet. What are you using it for?"

Belle braced herself for the cold and yanked the kitchen's back door open. The small room in the back doubled as a coat room and storage space. The vents didn't work properly though, so it was never a comfortable temperature. "I'm trying to surprise you," she told Robert. "You can't tell yourself."

"I already said I wouldn't. We have a deal, darling," he said, leaving her to finish his thought: _no one breaks deals with me._

"Okay, I'm making the corn soup and cranberry bread—" she stared.

"Belle—" The pain in his voice killed her. Somehow expectation didn't make it hurt less.

"Shhhhhh!" she interrupted before he could convince her to give up. "You can't let yourself hear. If you have a problem with your surprise we can discuss it after you've been surprised."

"You mean once I'm smelling it," he grumbled.

"Of course," she said, the smile returning to her voice. "Now keep quiet. You might hear us."

She could practically hear him rolling his eyes through the phone, but he didn't make a comment, only asking, "Was there anything else?"

"Yeah. Could you pick something up for us on your way home?" she asked, trying to sound sorry for troubling him. It didn't really work, but maybe he wouldn't spend the rest of the day stewing himself up into a rage at her if she was a little sorry. And she was. She didn't want to make things worse or upset him. But this needed to happen. For both of them.

"I take it this is part of the surprise as well?"

"Yes." She knelt down to look through the cupboard for the wine.

"And it's going to surprise me even though I'm picking it up?"

"Yes."

"You realize that Graham is sitting here laughing at my end of this conversation?"

"Yes, he probably is. Will you though?"

"Of course," he said, his voice softening. "What is it?"

"Ah—gotcha," she whispered under her breath, grabbing the bottle of white wine from its place in the back of the cupboard. "A marzipan cake," she told Robert. "From the Swedish bakery down on—"

"Yes, yes. I know. A marzipan cake."

"Yeah, and don't get any of the strange designs, just the regular one." The back door stuck when she tried to kick it shut behind her, so she threw her body back against it to wedge it back into place.

"Of course. Is that all? I have a client coming in ten minutes." He sounded sorry to go—the thought made her grin as she set the wine down on the counter. Holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, she moved the pot from the counter to the stove. Thank goodness she'd thought to look for the wine before starting. Once this started cooking, the timing would have to be perfect.

"That's all," she said.

"Good-bye then."

"I love you," she said shyly. There was no reason to be shy after five years, but the idea that maybe, just maybe, they were each in love with the other still made her stomach flutter.

"I love you too, sweetheart. See you soon."

She kissed the air so he'd hear it through the phone and quickly hung up before their farewells could stretch out any longer. Now, it was time to make some magic.


	2. A Spell for Transforming

Two hours turned out to be just enough time. He texted her barely a minute after she put the finishing touches on the living room to tell her he was leaving the metro station. Glancing around once more just to check, Belle took a deep breath. Everything was perfect. Perhaps, if she was lucky, this might even work.

Turning off all the lights as she went, Belle slipped out of the flat into the entryway, and promptly ran into Philip, who was coming in from outside at the same moment, Mulan behind him.

"I'm so sorry," she said, stepping back. As far as friendly upstairs tenants went, Philip and Aurora were wonderful. Not only neighbors, but good friends. Philip had helped Belle put up the tree earlier—mostly because she was much too short and clumsy to reach the top without destroying something.

"No problem," he said, grinning. "You remember Mulan? She's spending Christmas with Aurora and I again."

"Of course," Belle said, greeting her with a hug. "Lovely to see you again. Merry Christmas."

"Same," Mulan grinned. "It's good to be home."

Philip kissed Belle's cheek, whispering, "Good luck". He and Mulan were greeted at the top of the stairs by warm golden light and Aurora's enthusiastic greeting. Their door shut, leaving Belle alone in the entryway, waiting. Her stomach was in knots. She hoped Robert would like her surprise. She hoped with all she had. This was a risk. She'd known that from the beginning, but if it went well, it could be everything they needed.

The window was frosted over, but Belle was able to see through it enough to see him coming. He walked slowly, taking care not to slip on the icy sidewalk. With one hand, he leaned heavily on his cane—it must have been a long day if it was hurting him that much—and the other hand held a white paper box. His slight frame was bundled in a long heavy coat and he kept his head down to protect his eyes from the hard cold of the wind. Their flat was only a block from the metro—they were lucky. If it was any farther he probably wouldn't be able to make it home on icy nights like this.

He glanced up at the house, his step hastening when he saw the darkened windows. Belle supposed that maybe she should have left _some_ lights on. But that would ruin the surprise. She took a deep breath and stepped out to meet him on the front porch. The breath wasn't necessary really—it wasn't like she was plunging into water. Still, it made her feel a bit warmer.

The air outside was bitterly cold, immediately cutting through every gap in her clothing and piercing her skin with its thousands of icy needles. The porch-light was on, giving off enough yellow glow to illuminate the little flurries of snow that fell through the night. Belle crossed her arms over her chest, bouncing up and down on her heels to stay warm as Robert hurried up the front walk. His forehead was creased with worry to see her standing there. He stumbled a bit on the ice covering the top step. Belle reacted instinctively to reach out and right him.

"Belle," he said. "Are you alright? Why are the lights out?"

"Don't be silly." She gave him a brief kiss on the lips as greeting. "I'm trying to hide your surprise. Come on inside." Taking the box from him, she opened the door for him, following him in the entryway. The door to their flat stuck a bit in its frame and flung open with a dry sucking sound.

"Close your eyes," Belle said. He didn't look overjoyed at the idea, but acquiesced, letting her lead him by the hand into the flat.

* * *

Even with his eyes closed, Robert Gold could tell the flat was dark. He could hear Belle moving about the room in front of him. It had been a long day, only made a little brighter by her phone call. And now she was most certainly Up To Something.

There was a thump, followed by a gasp of pain and irritated muttering.

"Belle? Are you alright?" he asked, instinctively stepping forward to help her before remembering how little use he'd be with his eyes closed.

"Keep your eyes shut," she said. "I'm fine. Just being clumsy."

"Evidently," he said, his tone dry.

"Oh shut it," Belle muttered, continuing to move about. There was scratching and more muttering from her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Belle giggled. "Nothing you need to worry about. Just wait a moment."

So he waited. She took the box from him, but he couldn't tell what she did with it—her footsteps were too muffled by socks for him to tell where she was exactly. Then she was back, her breaths short and excited as she stood in front of him. Her soft hand covered his eyes and she giggled.

"I can cover my own eyes, dearest," he said. Her laughter was barely audible, only a little sound in the back of her throat. The touch of her lips to his took him by surprise. Too startled to respond at first, he could only picture her. She was so much shorter than him without her customary heels. She must have been standing on the tips over her toes to reach him—then his brain kicked in, simultaneously drowning him in sensation and giving him the ability to respond—but too late. She was already pulling away.

Her voice came next from several feet away, playful, in full knowledge of how she was teasing him. "And now you can open them," she said.

He did.

His eyes widened and he could only stand still, taking it all in. The flat had been transformed in the space of only a day. Instead of the usual assortment of lamps, the room was lit by a dozen or so candles and the white lights on the Christmas tree that hadn't been set up this morning. It stood in its usual spot in the alcove made by the front bay windows, covered in all the little ornaments that had been collected over the years, from Belle's little wooden dwarves to Bae's conglomerations of felt and glitter. The only difference from most years was the absence of gifts underneath it.

The rest of their decorations had also made their way to their places. The glass snowmen and garlands on the bookcases and the little bells hanging on the knobs of the china cabinet. The table was set with the rose-patterned china they'd received as a wedding gift. The whole house smelled of cooking food. He could nearly taste it.

And Belle. She stood in the center of the room, gorgeous as he'd ever seen her. Her loose white sweater hung more like a dress, with leggings underneath. Her curls were half gathered back behind her head, tumbling down her back and stating to frizz a bit around her face. A sneaking suspicion crossed his mind that they'd been completely tied back when she began working. She bit her lip, trying to smile, but too nervous at his reaction. He didn't even know his reaction.

"How?" he asked. It was an idiotic question, but he was too entranced by the magic that had come over the room to think of another.

"Perhaps it was the fairies," she said slyly. "You never know what sorts of things they might get up to."

"Belle… I—"

"Do you like it?" she interrupted.

"I—I don't know." Did he like it? Yes. It was beautiful. Only this morning, their home had been drab and miserable, a constant reminder of what was missing. Now it shone, warm and beautiful. Perhaps she was right. Only some benevolent fairy could have made such a transformation—or, apparently, his love.

She looked hurt, uncertain. She was brave to do this. Brave and beautiful and wonderful, yet still, even as he looked the pain that he'd managed to bury under layers and layers of time and her love returned. It wasn't sharp anymore, only a dull ache that threatened to consume him.

"I asked you not to," he said quietly, limping forward and taking her hand.

"Bae wouldn't want us to be sad," she said quickly, desperate for him to understand. He did understand though. Understanding didn't stop the pain. "Not on Christmas. He wouldn't—"

"Stop it." His voice was raw, harsh. He couldn't look her in the eye. "Don't talk about him like that. He's not dead. He's out there somewhere. Don't… don't talk about him… like he's—" He broke off, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

Belle rested her hands on his shoulders, looking him directly. "He'll come back to us. He will. And when he does, how will you tell him you stopped living while he was gone?"

He sighed, knowing that she was right. He couldn't give up. Bae deserved more than that. Wherever his son might be, Gold knew he couldn't give up hope.

"Thank you for doing this," he said. "It's lovely." He ran his hand lightly over her hair, mussing it up more than it had been. "You're lovely."

"Can we try to forget?" she asked, her voice shaking. Because it wasn't just him who was slowly dying without Bae. She was too. Their son was gone and it was eating them both with worry. "Just for Christmas?"

Gold nodded, unable and unwilling to refuse her. This little bit of magic would have to be enough. "Of course, sweetheart. Do you need any help to finish dinner?"


	3. A Spell for Forgetting

"Belle, please, we don't have to," Gold said, standing next to Belle on the platform. It was a grey sort of morning, but a nice grey. The sort of grey that could only properly be seen in Chicago after it had snowed and was, like usual, cloudy.

"Yes, we do. You agreed last night," Belle said. She wasn't looking at him. She was forcing herself to continue with this mad idea. It was clear to him though: celebrating Christmas with decorations and food and kisses in the privacy of their flat was one thing, going out to do so was another. Nevertheless, Gold was smart enough not to start an argument with her in public, so he swallowed his protests, no matter how much he'd like to plead with her, rail until she saw sense.

The train pulled up and he sighed in relief. It was cold out. The sort of cold that wasn't a problem when one was walking, but when one was standing still waiting for a train it was absolutely miserable. Belle slipped her arm through his as they boarded the train to steady him. He didn't really need the help—he got on and off the train without her most days—but he didn't mind either. She was there for him, to catch him if he were to stumble. To support him. Always.

"I can't do it," Robert continued once they were seated towards the back. "My leg has been worse lately—"

"That's an excuse and you know it," she said.

He did. Perhaps there really was no shame in hurting this much. He could still remember the first time he rode this train on Christmas Eve. Bae had only been a few years old. Three or four. They'd gone down to fetch something Gold had left in his office. On their way back, Gold had taken his son to see the people ice skating in Millennium Park. Of course, Bae had begged to be able to join in. They'd gone every year after that. When Bae was ten, Belle, Gold's girlfriend at the time, joined them. They hadn't missed a year. Ever. And Gold had never gone without his son at his side, yammering on about whatever he liked.

"I can't go without him," Gold admitted.

Belle let out a sad sigh, running a hand through his hair. "And I can't let you stop living."

He turned his head to look her in the eye, his own searching hers. Sometimes he was still amazed that she loved him. Even after eighteen years, memories of Bae's mother still scarred him. Seeing only pure love in her eyes, he leaned in, lightly brushing his lips over hers. She leaned into his kiss, letting him deepen it. He had no idea what he'd ever done to win her love. He didn't deserve it, nor Bae's. Somehow she was still here though, and he would hold onto that. Nothing, nothing could break them apart—

"Get a room!" someone shouted from across the aisle. They pulled apart suddenly, Gold grinning to see a tinge of red on Belle's cheeks and feeling a similar one on his own.

* * *

Belle loved the city at Christmas. Like every year, it was crowded with people huddled in coats and scarves. It was a different sort of bustle from most days of the year. Instead of people hurrying about their lives, stuck to their phones as they tried to do more than humanly possible, they walked slowly, taking in the magic of the morning. Most of the shops sported some sort of decoration and the sound of festive music slipped out through every door when someone pushed it open for a moment or two.

The ice skating rink was as crowded as anywhere. They weren't the only ones to come here every year. Robert knelt on the ground to lace up her skates. She could have easily done it herself, but he liked to do them. They helped each other stand shakily, making their way to the ice with the help of his cane, which he rested against the half wall around the rink.

"Are you going to be okay?" Belle asked. She asked every year.

"I can handle a bit of skating." It was always the same response. "And if not, there are painkillers at home." He winked at her and took off across the ice. Belle followed, loving the sudden feel of the ice under her feet, the grace and endless possibility that seemed to be wrapped up in the simple act of skating. It was the closest she'd ever come to flying, a dance on frozen water.

She caught up to Robert quickly, taking his hand, their feet moving perfectly in time together. Every year she somehow forgot how graceful he could be on the ice. He'd skated as a boy, before his ankle was injured. Afterwards he still could, but because of the pain usually only did so on Christmas.

The snow was fresh on the ground and still falling in tiny flakes that spun and tarried in the air with the faintest stir. Not heavy enough to fall, they floated in the dove-grey morning, chasing one another and spinning in circles. It didn't matter that the pond was artificial or that the metal rink was only barely covered by green plastic bushes. The snow stuck regardless. There was a magical feeling to it, to look up and see the thousands of snowflakes drifting above the park, only to have them blink away a moment later when one decided to land in one's eye.

"It's strange without him," Robert said as they circled the rink, more graceful than they'd ever been together. After all, between his limp and her natural clumsiness, grace could be hard to come by.

"I know."

"We came here every Christmas." There was a sad, measured sound to his words. He was telling a story, not mourning. Perhaps it was a step in the right direction. "For years, he and I. Then you joined us." He gave a dry, humorless laugh. "I suppose there would always come a day when it was just you and I here."

"He'll come back to us," Belle said. "We can't lose hope."

"It's been six months, darling," Robert said. "If he wanted anything to do with us, he'd be home by now."

Belle could only raise Robert's hand to her lips to kiss it softly as they continued their dance on the ice, lonely with only two.


	4. A Spell for Vanishing

Gold ought to have been surprised that it lasted as long as it did. They returned home from downtown cold and exhausted, but happy. It was nearly dark by then and Gold's ankle felt like it had recently been doused in fire, but he wasn't about to sit around nursing it while Belle tried to get dinner on. He considered last night a rare miracle of grace—he certainly didn't trust her to continue her streak of not breaking anything. A couple painkillers didn't hurt either.

They worked well side by side. The radio was tuned into Christmas music. Gold could have sworn that they played the same exact songs in the same exact order every Christmas Eve. No creativity. Belle sang along as they worked, hitting him playfully when he interrupted the chorus with a kiss.

"Stop that you," she said after he'd gotten yet another one. "You're messing me up."

"I think it's an improvement," he said, ducking out of the way when she tried to hit him again, laughing. Instead of coming after him, she settled for a glare that didn't quite make her look upset. The song came to an end, taking with it her chance of singing it properly.

_"Angels we have heard on high,_

_Sweetly singing o'er the plains…"_

Both of them froze at the opening notes of the song, facing each other, unable to do anything but listen. They did indeed play the same songs every year. This one… The first year with Belle, she had been helping him with Christmas Eve dinner. They were expecting the Nolans to arrive at any moment. He was stressed, she was nervous. They'd kicked Bae out of the kitchen a while ago—the ten year old had proved to be more of a nuisance than help. This song had come on the radio, high and sweet and joined by another voice, a child's: Bae's. They'd watched him silently from the kitchen door as he stood by the front window, looking out into the night and singing in a high clear voice. _Gloria. Gloria, in excelsis Deo!_

He sang every year after that. Yes, he'd sing the other songs too, but it became a sort of tradition: the last song before the Nolans would arrive—and would become too embarrassed to sing in front of Emma—was "Angels We have Heard On High". _Gloria, in excelsis Deo._

Belle tried to take a deep breath, but it was shaky. She took another, faster this time, a single tear falling from her eyes. Gold realized with a bit of shock that his eyes were no longer dry either. Because everything was different this year. Instead of having their son and friends with them, it was just the two of them. Alone.

Gold stepped towards his wife, both seeking comfort and offering it. He tried to tell himself it was no fault of his own. He tried to convince himself that Bae still loved them, and most of all that he was safe and happy, wherever he was. Belle's tears soaked through his shirt, her hands clutching at him.

Six months. They'd woken on a summer's day to an empty bed and closet, his backpack gone as well as what little he'd saved from his after-school job. No word, no note. As if he'd simply gotten up and gone downtown for an afternoon. With all his money and clothes and prized possessions. Perhaps there was no rational reason for deluding themselves that he would return. They called everywhere, searching, only to find that Emma was gone too. The two of them had been dating for almost two years now. Then without a thought or word, they were both gone.

Time passed. Fall came, and with it what should have been Bae and Emma's senior year. Then the leaves fell and the snow came without a sign. Now Christmas. Where were they? Were they safe? Were they out in the cold? Did they have a life? Were they barely surviving?

The pain in his ankle only grew the longer they stood crying. Without words, he pulled away, turning off the lights and stove before returning to her and taking her hand. He was weary. Both tired from the day's activity and the sudden drain of thinking of Bae. His beautiful boy. Gone.

They made it to their bedroom before truly breaking down. Belle sunk to her knees just inside the door, crying out with the strength of her tears. Gold could only lean against the door, feeling as through it might as well be his life's hot blood pouring down his face rather than bitter tears. These weren't tears of shock or horror, but ones built up over months of denial and buried despair. All because of a song on the radio.

It seemed that even a little magic eventually had a price. Their son was gone and likely never coming home. They lay in each other's arms that night, crying until there were no more tears, clinging to each other because there was no other comfort, even though not even their love could heal this hurt.

_Gloria. Gloria, in excelsis Deo._


	5. A Spell for Summoning

Belle woke in morning, refreshed and happy—only for a moment. Perhaps it was a small magic of Christmas that she got that. After only a moment, the night came rushing back to her. The tears. The soul-crushing despair. Curled up in her husband's arms, not with passion and love, but hurt and tears. Her face was still sticky and her head felt rather sore. Careful not to disturb Robert, she rose from bed, going to wash herself and get a strong cup of coffee.

Robert joined her in the living room nearly an hour later with his own coffee. Neither of them spoke to one another. There was nothing to say. No more tears to shed. For now, at least.

The lights were off, the room lit by the reflection of the sun on the snow outside. The trees seemed to loom over them, a dead dark mass in front of the window, lonely without gifts underneath. It was nearly noon, yet no wrapping paper littered the floor. No child played at their feet or in the yard. No surly teenager tapped his heel to the beat of whatever was blasting through his headphones. Just silence and dim, cold light.

She thought about getting up to get a book, but couldn't make her limbs move. The doorbell rang. She leaned her head against the couch. There was a bird outside in the bushes outside the window. It looked cold and lonely—she felt sorry for it. Did it have a home? A family? Was it lost out in the world? Did it stay behind on purpose or was it lost?

The doorbell rang again. Belle looked to Robert, but he was studiously staring at the floor, showing no sign of wanting to move to get it. There was thumping as someone ran down the stairs—Philip probably. The sounds from the entryway were muffled, but audible in the silence of their flat. Two people talking. Philip and another man. Belle couldn't make out any of the words.

She jumped when someone pounded on their door. Robert looked up, confusion scrawled on his face. Belle rose from her seat, thankful they had both at least gotten dressed this morning. She opened the door, ready to ask Philip what in the world was going on…

And froze.

Bae.

He stood there, a shy grin on his face. He looked older, more like his father than ever before. He was thinner than when he left—that much was obvious despite his coat, but he was clean shaven and… and _happy_. He looked well.

Belle stepped forward, unable to believe that this really could be happening. She reached out, touching his cheek, a tear running down hers. He covered her hand with his. "Mama."

"Bae," she gasped, wrenching him forward into a hug. He was taller than both her and Robert, broader, but he was still her little boy. His arms wrapped around her, squeezing her tight.

Robert's cane clicked on the wood floor as he came toward them. Belle stepped back from Bae, her heart nearly soaring to see the joyous wonder on his face. "Bae?" he said, his voice hopeful, yet broken, so broken.

"Papa."

They met in the middle, holding each other close as if they'd never separate. In that moment, the flat seemed warmer, more welcoming than ever before, love lighting it brighter than any magic ever could.

"I'm back, Papa," Bae said. "I'm home."

THE END

* * *

Thanks for reading this. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

~esin of sardis


End file.
